Sherlock and John go to the Carnival
by pleasedonttalktome
Summary: Just as the title says. Shenanigans ensue.


**Authors Note:** I'm not really the author. My friend and her friend explained that they'd been hopped up on sugar and decided to write a Sherlock story, switching every couple of sentences. One wrote in regular font, one wrote in italicized font. She gave me permission to post this here because I think more people need to read this. She says she'll never finish this. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did.

One day, John and Sherlock took a magical adventure to America to see a state fair with real live 'murrikan rednecks! _The plane ride there was quite lovely, at least until John refused to stop staring at the Stewardess' chest; then things got ugly. Also, the only in-flight movie was "High School Musical". _Sherlock deduced that every male character was a flaming homosexual, the entire cast was severely retarded, and the stewardess had daddy issues, bipolar disorder, and slammin' tittays.

The airport was busy and crowded and as they walked along, Sherlock kept announcing where each passenger was going, or had come from, and why. John was tired and grouchy. And if, by the time they got to the cab, there was just a bit of blood on Sherlock's scarf, well, they didn't talk about it.

It may have had something to do with the fact that Sherlock was telling everyone that John was grouchy because he couldn't put his pipi in the stewardess' vagoo.

Things were still tense when the arrived at the fairgrounds and the situation was not at all helped when Sherlock loudly deduced a carnie's social awkwardness, lack of friends and late night porn habits.

A small fight broke out, ending when Sherlock bit the carnie's wrist (getting herpeghonnosyphilaids), causing the carnie to bleed to death. His body was consumed by nearby children.

"Americans." John said with an irritated huff.

They passed some whores having a competition to see who could eat a corndog in the most suggestive way. Sherlock deduced that they would all lose because no one deep-throats corndogs like Gaston. John fapped behind a clown-shaped trash can. _He couldn't help it, the poofy hair, big red nose and pasty make-up just made him so horny! The mob of angry fathers didn't seem to understand though._

"Americans!" John screamed as one of them cut his manbanana off with a plastic knife.

"Walk it off, Jawn!" Sherlock said, striding off in the direction of the ticket sales booth. "I doubt your hand will get that lonely anyway."

John did not hear him. He was too busy burying his dismembered member under a tree, weeping bitterly.

"One last miracle." He whispered. "Please, for me, don't be…" But his words were cut off as Sherlock dragged him away by his collar, waving the tickets in the air like a white flag. _Sherlock took his mourning friend to get some lunch. Unfortunatly, the sight of the corndogs brought up many memories. John wept anew. _Sherlock handed him a basket of onion rings and told him to shut up. John ate them, crying silent tears. Their shape reminded him of the stewardess. Sherlock threatened to strangle him with his scarf if the infernal sniveling didn't stop. _Seven boxes of tissues and a strangely moving funeral later, the duo was finally able to move past the strange events of that morning and get on with their day._

The first ride they chose to go on was the carousel. Sherlock chose a lovely white horse with a flowing mane and a pink saddle. He named it Mayonnaise. John chose a brown horse with a purple saddle. He named it Wanker. The name reminded him of that morning, but he shook his head and tried to think of something else. _Sherlock enjoyed himself far too much, shaking his thick head of brown curls as the wind whipped through it. John, howerver, scowled the entire time. His horse was short. His feet were dragging. And the music would be stuck in his head all day. _The next ride was the Tilt-A-Whirl. John squealed with child-like glee, while Sherlock was violently sick. John's lack of concern for his friend's digestive system angered Sherlock.

So his next choice was the house of horrors. As it turned out; though John was not at all alarmed by gun-wielding criminals and unfazed by taking a life, he had a paralyzing fear of sweaty, smelly, low-paid carnies in badly designed costumes.

He clung to Sherlock like a baby koala to its mother, shrieking at everything and nearly soiling himslef. Sherlock was thoroghly amused. _After a hurl inducing ride on the Gravitron and what they both considered to be a near death experience on the Sky-Scraper, they opted to switch to games. Sherlock had to be reminded nearly eight times that his harpoon was not to be used in the fishing game._


End file.
